The moon hung low as the caravan halted beneath ancient oaks, their twisted branches scratching the star-speckled sky. A hush fell over the camp — exhaustion and wary relief mingled in the cool night air.
Aralya sat quietly by the fire, her arm wrapped in bandages soaked through with a mixture of herbal salves and dried blood. She met Saviik's gaze with a fierce calm.
"It was a warning," she said softly. "They want us to know we're vulnerable."
Saviik nodded, his mind racing. The attack had been precise — not just an attempt to kill but a message, woven with malice and hidden threats.
Xala sat beside Aralya, her usual confident spark dimmed by the close call. "I don't like that they knew our route so well. Someone inside the court, or close to it."
Nysera stood apart, eyes scanning the forest edge. "It's no accident the target was Aralya. The Thandor clan's influence threatens many. They want to weaken us — and by extension, you."
Seranyth, pacing nearby, added, "There are too many players. Spies, assassins, rivals... The Court of Scars is already bleeding."
Vaelyra, ever the strategist, spoke quietly but with sharp edge: "This changes things. We need allies — and fast. Trust is a currency we can't afford to waste."
The firelight flickered across faces marked by resolve and uncertainty. These six women — fierce warriors, heirs to ancient legacies — each bore the weight of their clans' expectations, but here, on this journey, they were something more.
Saviik cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "We move forward together. No one stands alone. That includes me."
A brief smile from Lira, who leaned forward, her violet eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "We'll watch your back, StormCrown."
The camaraderie felt fragile but genuine — a web of loyalty spun tight by shared danger.
---
The next morning, the caravan pressed onward, the shadow of the attack lingering in every glance.
At Drevanhal's Court, sprawling atop a windswept plateau, the group found an atmosphere thick with intrigue. Courtiers whispered in gilded halls; glances were daggers, and every smile a mask.
Their arrival was met with ceremony but edged with suspicion. Representatives from the seven clans watched closely, weighing the significance of Saviik and his entourage.
The political dance began anew — alliances proposed, favors hinted at, and veiled threats exchanged beneath polite words.
Saviik's thoughts drifted back to the attack on Aralya — a clear sign that not all welcomed their mission. The factions vying for power in Drevanhal were hungry and dangerous.
As evening fell, the heiresses gathered privately.
Vaelyra broke the silence. "We need to find the source. Identify the traitor."
Nysera nodded. "Information networks. Spies within spies."
Seranyth, her voice low and steady, said, "And hearts divided will be our undoing."
Xala looked at Saviik, a question in her eyes: How far will you go to protect us?
He met her gaze, feeling the weight of leadership — and the fragile bonds that would shape the fate of Vharenthia.